


Pri’al

by Anonymous



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Cultural Differences, Blow Jobs, First Time, Jewelry, M/M, Tongue Rings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-21 22:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Bashir sees something in Garak’s mouth, something shiny and distracting, and something Garak has definitely never worn before.





	1. Chapter 1

Bashir prepared to leave the Infirmary by late-morning, as he had been doing for just over three years, to meet Garak for their weekly lunch somewhere on the Promenade.  Often, they would alternate choosing the destination, and on Garak's weeks, Bashir would try in vain to work hints out of him beforehand. Garak insisted he preferred the same limited range of options and was, in a Terran phrase he was fond of, a creature of habit.  

So it came as some surprise when Bashir sat down across from him - ready to listen to him drone on about their most recent novel exchange - to notice something shiny between Garak's teeth.

Perhaps he had not been paying close enough attention, and had glanced up quickly enough to catch Garak tipping his fork toward his mouth, letting it catch the light from a peculiar angle.  

No, no.  Garak was starting his meal with a broth, which he sipped gingerly from a porcelain spoon.  There was no reflection to speak of.

"...but other than that - the overwhelming focus on the victim's feelings prior to being rescued," Garak said, " - I will admit to finding your selection enjoyable."

"Hmm?  Oh, of course.  Very good," Bashir babbled, rushing to do something with his hands.

Until then, he had been resting them beneath his chin, physically supporting his habit of gazing distractedly off into the distance. 

"Is-sssomething the matter, Doctor?" he asked, in a low, hissing tone.  

It did not sound inherently angry, but Bashir could not help but wonder if his neglect had brought on the sudden behavior.  Garak's Standard never sounded quite like _that._

"No, I'm sorry.  I wasn't paying attention.  I'm, er... I'm glad you liked the book, Garak."

He occupied himself immediately with a bite of his pasta, trying to ensure his facial expression remained friendly even as he ate.  Garak took another sip of broth from the wide, white spoon, and that gave Bashir a different idea.

"It sounds like you burned your tongue," he observed.

"I'm quite well," Garak said slowly.

And there it was again - when Garak's tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth on the final syllable - something shiny.  Bashir stared and cleared his throat, waiting for Garak to stare back. Even if they were looking at each other, that would not guarantee a truthful answer, but Bashir liked to think it helped, anyway.

"You sound different," Bashir said.  "What's in your mouth?"

"Nothing is in my mouth, Doctor.  Except what one might expect in the process of consuming my lunch, of course."

"Of course," Bashir replied, automatically.  "But there's... something else... bronze?” 

"Where?" 

"It's... um, on your tongue," Bashir said, giving the organ serious thought for the first time.  Or, he corrected himself, not serious - _curious_.

"My dear doctor," Garak grinned, hiding the object completely, "I've worn that particular decoration for _years._ Certainly as long as you and I have been acquainted.  Have you _really_ never noticed?"

"Obviously not," Bashir said, waving his hand in artificially-inflated exasperation.

After nodding politely, Garak returned to his soup.  Ordinarily, at this juncture, Bashir would give _his_ impression of their reading assignment, but all of those details were drained from his mind.  He was fixated, instead, on the bronze band on Garak's tongue.

"What is it?" he asked, speaking quickly, "May I see?” 

Garak glanced up, looking more surprised than Bashir thought was necessary.  It was as if he wanted to avoid the subject, Bashir thought. But why would he want to avoid it?  Had he not wanted to draw attention to his tongue in the first place? 

"Removing it is no simple task, I'm afraid," Garak said, in that charming voice of his, controlling his words more carefully.  "And it is called a _pri'al._ I'm sure we've discussed them before."

"And I'm sure we haven't," Bashir insisted, assuming his memory was about as perfect as Garak's was.

Garak was not forthcoming with any other details, nor points to dispute, so Bashir sat and watched him closely, waiting for him to open his mouth again.

"I am entirely capable of going to eat somewhere else," Garak said, after several tedious minutes of this.  "I have plenty of experience with being regarded as _odd,_ Doctor, and it is not something I would seek out on purpose.  Least of all from a friend."

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to be rude," Bashir said, reaching for his fork again, staring down at his plate.  

***

Bashir remained absolutely convinced he had never seen the ring inside Garak's mouth, before.  But, to avoid any future misunderstandings, he decided it was in his best interest to do a bit of research.

Getting into the Cardassian archives was usually impossible, although Bashir found he was able to access an article on the word Garak provided - _pri'al_ \- after working his way through several permission forms.  It was almost as if someone - Garak - _wanted_ him to read it.

Bashir's thoughts ran in excited circles at _that._ As he ticked boxes to indicate his promise not to redistribute any of the information inside the file, he came to the sudden and crippling realization that Garak must have meant it to indicate romantic interest.  It was on his _tongue_ , and he wanted Bashir to see it.  

He had never considered Garak in that way, before, apart from the times his visits had been urgent and oddly-timed and greatly amusing to the rest of the senior staff, when Bashir tried to explain himself.  But they _had_ been going to meals together for years...

Bashir shook his head and finished the disclosure form, almost too overwhelmed to read.  Being courted by an alien was _exciting!_

Then he was faced with a long, historical record of the item's usage and and significance.  Much too long to be romantic, he worried, but then he remembered how much Cardassians loved words.

And that, as it turned out, was the main function of the _pri'al._

They were, as Bashir had seen, bronze-coated bands, a little thinner than his thumb, fastened to the tongue and secured beneath the split in the center, so they did not greatly affect speech.  They were flat with a gap between the two ends, leaving space for the root of the tongue to flex and move as normal. He expected they might signify marriage or some other significant kind of bonding, but he was only partially correct.  

A _pri'al_ was distributed between individuals who knew each other fairly well, enough to be considered a fair judge of character, and they were awarded to signify that the receiving party was worth listening to.  They _could_ lead to a marriage, and in that case they offered a private and dignified symbol of the enjoined parties, with bands available in matching sets.  

He wondered who had given one to Garak, and then he felt strange and jealous, having almost instantly crushed the romantic plot he was building in his head.  Why on _earth_ , he wondered, would Garak be so interested in showing off what could have been a wedding ring?  

***

The following week, it was Bashir's turn to select their spot for lunch, and he selected Quark's only because it had some of the smallest tables.  

He arrived a few minutes early, early enough to stare at Garak as he approached and offered his customary greeting; close enough to notice the _pri'al_ was still lodged into place on Garak's tongue.

"I read about it," Bashir said, with an aimless gesture.  "Your _decoration_."

"I'm plea-sssed to hear it," Garak said softly.

Bashir guessed it affected his speech most when he was _not_ speaking his native language.  This could have been Bajoran, or Klingon, or even Standard.  He wondered for a moment if it was worth switching off his translator, just long enough to hear the _precise_ way the _pri'al_ regulated his tongue movement, but then he would be thinking of that: Garak's _tongue movement._  

Really, though, it was too late, because he was thinking about it already.  The band looked smooth and cool and altogether quite pleasant to play with, and Julian _did_ enjoy experiencing different textures with his mouth.  There were some he knew he disliked and therefore avoided at all costs, but polished, engraved metal was not one of them.  If anything, it was exotic and new, and he wanted to feel a _pri'al_ on his own tongue very badly.

He coughed, and noticed Garak was placing their orders with Quark.  Bashir was much too occupied with watching his tongue flick up and down as he spoke to actually hear any of the words.   

"Would it be rude for us to talk about it, today?" Bashir asked, after their orders were inputted, and Quark was gone.

"If you've done your research and want to have an educated discussion?  No, I wouldn't think so. Do go on, Doctor. What's on your mind?"

 _Your tongue_ , Bashir thought, but wisely did not say.  

"Who did you say gave you yours?" Bashir asked.

"I did not say," Garak corrected, holding up his index finger to stall.

"Oh... did you... you didn't get it for yourself, did you?"

That made Garak laugh.

 "You'd have to ask Gul Dukat about that."

"Did _Gul Dukat_ get you your--"

"No, Doctor, my mistake.  What I mean to say is that getting one _for_ oneself is pompous and tasteless.  I could think of no better illustration."

"Oh," Bashir offered a chuckle.  "So _someone else_ got it for you, then.  Right... very good."

"A friend from my Academy days," Garak noted, with some satisfaction; he did not clarify.

"And it means you're a good source of information," Bashir confirmed.

A server arrived with their trays, and Garak promptly took to stirring the contents of his bowl.

"That is one way of looking at it," he said.

Over the years, Bashir learned to consider phrases like that to be acceptable.  He could press to hear the _other_ ways of looking at it, or he could be cooperative and work them out on his own, afterward.  

"So they aren't always exchanged between romantic partners?" Bashir asked, instead.

Garak raised his brow ridges and parted his lips in surprise, just enough for Bashir to get a look at the glinting _pri'al_ inside.

"Oh, no, not at all.  It sounds to me like you read an article by a _human_ author."

"I loaned it from the Cardassian archive, actually."

"While in most enjoined groups, the involved individuals were the ones to award them to one another, it is in no way a requirement.  I'm sure you can see the correlation: one party enjoys the debating position of the other, and would therefore want to spend more time with them.  And _certainly,_ when that is mutual, you will reach the grounds for a solid enjoinment."

"Yes, I see."

Bashir began to relax enough to pick at his food.  But then Garak would take up his fork and slide a bite of cake into his mouth, obscuring his _pri'al,_ and Bashir would find himself once again hopelessly distracted by the shine of it.  He was enamored with it, just like the married couple Garak had described. Only now, Garak did not seem to mind when Bashir continued looking at it, no matter if he was speaking, eating, or merely breathing.  The extra space it occupied must have made it easier for Garak to leave his mouth open, rather than breathe through his nose... Bashir was _certain_ Garak had never worn it before their previous lunch meeting.  He would have noticed.

Still, he smiled amiably and kept himself amused by watching the band as it moved, listening to its affect on Garak's voice as he spoke at length.  Bashir rested his cheek against his palm, leaning in to close the small gap afforded by the table.

"Is it engraved?" he asked, after Garak was done with his summary of the book he selected.  

It was a shame Bashir could not see how utterly lovesick he looked; he had tried intentionally not to come off that way, but his posture and the question itself undid all of his efforts.

"My, my," Garak said slowly - as if to draw Bashir in further with resounding thoughts of 'yours, yours,' - "yes, thank you for noticing.  My _pri'al_ is engraved.  You can refer to _it_ by name, Doctor, unless you are truly reluctant to try the pronunciation...?"

"Your _pry-ell_ ," Bashir responded, at Garak's request.  

"That's very close," Garak praised.  "But I would welcome you to practice, if you feel comfortable.  I do _hope_ , by now, you feel comfortable with me."

"I... I do, yes. _Pry-eln_ ," he tried.  " _Ahl_?"

"Softer, Doctor," Garak said in a low voice.  " _Very good_."

*** 

That night, in his cabin, Bashir was going over the events of the day in his head, trying to make sense of them.  He worked through his nightly routine - changing his clothes, rinsing his mouth, wondering what meaning he was supposed to draw from a single word Garak had said - it was all very ordinary, and exhausting.

When he finally settled down in bed, just sitting on the edge of it and restlessly kicking out his feet, he had not come any closer to a conclusion.  

Throughout their lunch, it had certainly _seemed like_ Garak was making analogies to human couples.  Bashir could not work out why he would have done that, unless he was trying to demonstrate a romantic interest.  If Garak had been doing research, surely he would have known what problems were avoided by speaking his intentions plainly, but then again, this was Garak.  And, between every gentle reassurance and quip about Bashir's mouth being _practiced_ and _firm_ , he did not know what to think.  He had asked one more time about the romantic significance of the _pri'al_ , and Garak immediately redirected the conversation, highlighting the sacred nature of the mouth in Cardassian society.  Bashir was at a loss for words; sacrilegious by Garak's newly-defined standard.

There was no sense in thinking Garak was interested in _that_.  Bashir did sometimes struggle to restrain his optimism, more often than aging seemed to help.  

Feeling thoroughly at fault, he drew his legs up to the mattress, covered himself with his blanket, and went to bed.

The lights in his cabin were set to dim and brighten again in tune to his sleep schedule, which made his varying work shifts easier for his body to adjust to and endure.

Although he slept fitfully, fueled by nervous dreams, he did not wake up again until the lights were soft and gold-tinted.  He had woken up at some point during the sunrise program, and that was not bad, all things considered.

His front door sensor was buzzing softly to signify a visitor.  In the daytime it would have chimed, or in an emergency it would have blared, so he rolled over slowly to squint at the computer panel on his bedroom wall.  It showed him his visitor had not been waiting very long.

"Come in...?" he said, sleepily.

He sat up in bed, tugging the blanket high enough to cover his chest.  Then he saw his visitor was Garak, so he huffed and laid back down.

"What's the matter," Bashir said.  Last time Garak visited him in his quarters, it was for use of a runabout.

"I have been thinking of our conversation all night," Garak said.  

Bashir thought that was _much_ too straightforward, but he was also too tired to be fully ready for Garak's games.

 "I didn't sleep well either," Bashir offered, kindly.

"I'm nocturnal, Doctor," Garak replied.  "But I do appreciate the sss-sentiment."

Bashir remained where he was, turning over onto his side to make sense of the sounds Garak was making.  He was padding in from the living room, and picking up items from Bashir's bookcase, inspecting them one at a time.  

"Did you... I'm sorry," Bashir began, "did you come to apologize for something?"

"In a way..." Garak said, setting down the holographic tennis trophy he had been weighing in his hand.  "I feel I was too hard on your pronunciation. I should not fault you for having a healthy, polite sense of curiosity.” 

"Thank you...?"

"I would hate to think I put you off of the subject.  They have such a rich history; there is no reason for me to keep it from you.  May I sit down?"

"It's 0400."

Bashir did not think _now_ was an appropriate time for a history lesson, especially not one so long and winding that Garak had to be seated.  He steepled his fingers over his face and sighed into them. Garak must have had something else in mind.

Then, Bashir was finally given a direct clue; Garak chose to sit at the foot of his bed.  Too direct... it must have had some _other_ meaning which Bashir was unaware of.  Perhaps Garak was accustomed to sleeping beside a source of heat.  It could have been anything.

"What are you doing?" Bashir asked, sitting up again.  

Blinking, he found Garak facing him, sitting up tall and straight, with his mouth open.  He did not seem to be in distress, he was not breathing loudly. This did not make anything more clear, Bashir thought.

Until Garak met his gaze.

"I was under the impression you wanted a chance to understand the texture of my _pri'al_ ," he said.

"I ...was..." he began to echo, out of habit, "what?"

"The way you were staring at it left nothing to the imagination."

"I'm... hmm, sorry?"

"I have spent some time - both tonight and in the preceding weeks - reading on similar human traditions."

"Have you?"

Garak nodded and waited with his lips still parted, but the silence was fruitless.

"I would rather not be made to say it, Julian."

The use of his name only surprised him coming from Garak, and he began to work backward through the rest of the clues Garak had apparently been giving.

"I _knew it_ ," Bashir settled on saying.  "You've been reading up on human _romance,_ haven't you?"

"I thought I had made my intentions quite clear."

"I'd _never_ thought of you romantically, before.  Not until the first time I saw that thing," Bashir said.  "Yes, your _pri'al_ , that thing!"

"But you must have thought of me often enough, since then, to make up for the previous years?  Or must I provide you with my surplus of sentiment?"

"We'll see," Bashir said, in a decidedly more playful tone.  "I think I'll have a better idea once I _understand_ your _pri'al_."

Garak waited there with his mouth open, looking comfortable enough for Bashir to assume he had studied at least _one_ source on human kissing customs.  So, Bashir leaned in close, parting his lips…

It was not a kiss, so much, but a chance for Bashir to stroke Garak’s tongue with his own.  Their lips sealed together, Garak moaned softly in surprise, and Bashir made an eager inspection of the engraving on the _pri’al._   He could not read Cardassi with his tongue, of course, but he made a noble attempt.  When he was through with admiring the carving, he flicked his own tongue beneath Garak’s, surprising both of them, and quickly learning how the band was adhered. The rooting of Garak’s tongue was still accessible - and Bashir rubbed at it in delight - because the band was folded in sharp angles on either side, each ceasing in a triangular point. The _pri’al_ was bent tightly into place, but Bashir figured it could be loosened, if one knew what they were doing. If he kept at it a little longer, he thought he could find out.

Bashir’s mind was drowning in all of these unexplored feelings, so it was best to approach from a scientific standpoint.  It was best for him to admire the cool, slick walls of Garak’s mouth, the smooth band of metal, the little glimmer in Garak’s eyes.

Then they were quiet for awhile, while Garak stared forward, and Bashir sighed and giggled nervously.  Nothing had become any clearer to him, but he was enjoying himself.

“Do you feel better, now?” Garak asked.

“B-better?” Bashir stammered.  “Um… yes. Yes I do. It’s quite nice, thank you.”

Garak’s smirk was unsettling, but the more Bashir thought about it, the more normal it seemed.

“What?” Bashir said.

He knew he was smiling foolishly, nodding and staring and gaping all at once.

“I do hope that was helpful,” Garak said.

“...Quite.”

“There are several _other_ rituals I am interested in… studying with you.  But perhaps another time.”

While Bashir was still clutching the blanket to his chest, breathing unevenly, Garak left.

***

Bashir did not sleep well that night, nor the next.  

The lights softened and pulsed around him as he tossed and turned and thought about what Garak had said, the night before.  No mention of it had been made that day, even when they passed one another on the way to their respective workplaces on the Promenade, as they did most mornings.  Garak had not called him or sent him any form of message, and Bashir thought he must have been naive. Hopeful, agreeing to Garak’s ‘studies’ without trying to uncover the romantic intentions beneath them.  If _pri’al_ were distributed between friends, and Garak had gone on to read about mouth-kisses, maybe there really was nothing more to it.

And he had almost convinced himself this was the truth, when he became vaguely aware of his cabin door sliding open.  There had been no signal from his computer, and the lights were still dim.

He thought about how this allowed Garak to see better, and then he was relieved to hear Garak’s voice calling out to him, even though it was soft.  

“I don’t mean to alarm you,” Garak said.

“Why can’t you visit at a _normal hour_?”

“As far as I remember, you are on-call twenty-six hours a day.”

“That’s right, yes.  For _emergencies_.”

Garak clicked his tongue and came into the bedroom, with the sound ringing in Bashir’s ears, drawing pictures of the metal band in his mind.  It made a satisfying sound, it felt smooth and clean…

He muttered a curse under his breath, because Garak seemed to know _exactly_ what effect his behavior was producing.  

When he sat on the edge of the bed again, as he had the night before, Bashir did not shoo him away.  He folded his legs to the side and reclined against the bed-frame and invited Garak further into his space.

They did not speak to one another, which Bashir found oddly refreshing.  Garak leaned in and gave a questioning, hungry little look, and then he opened his mouth for Bashir to explore.  He took great delight in stroking Garak’s tongue, soothing himself with a pattern, drawing out delicious sounds from low in Garak’s throat.  Each reverberation was felt along the metal, and Bashir felt, in a way, like they were singing to each other.

It was intimate and unique to them, and it continued even as the lights shifted subtly into the very beginning of their programmed sunrise.  Bashir found his hands opportunely guided and positioned on Garak’s neck, where he squeezed and massaged the scales until they darkened almost to black.  Once Bashir was able to part from his stroking pattern long enough to recognize this, becoming belatedly aware of his actions, it occurred to him that Garak might like a chance to explore, too.  So, he gently moved his hands over Garak’s, and brought them both to rest in his lap. Garak seemed eager for the leadership, and touched with a palpable sense of restraint and curiosity; Bashir saw a brief glimmer of it in his eye.

“How clever, Doctor,” Garak praised.

“Hmm?”

“Another custom I was longing to familiarize myself with, in practice.”

Garak groped him through the blanket, and he did not know what to do aside from laugh.

“And what custom are you referring to, Garak?”

“I believe I might take an _intimate_ part of your anatomy into my mouth, tonight, if it would please you.”

Swearing to himself that Garak’s _pri’al_ had hypnotic qualities, Bashir swallowed and nodded mutely.

“Oh, my,” Garak mentioned, tracing his fingers idly along Bashir’s cock, through the bed-sheet.  “I _might_ indeed.”

Bashir shivered and replied.

“I i-imagine it’s not… mm, not part of your culture?”

“And why ever might that be?” Garak asked, touching with the same reverent gentility.

“I’ve read about how your mouths are considered almost sacred.  How debate is the cornerstone of all your different relationships, and…  I mean, surely if I were to, um--”

“My _dear_ Doctor, yours is a sacrament I am honored to take.”

“...Right, I… yes.”

“But of course, I would appreciate your guidance in the matter…?”

“Of course,” Bashir echoed.

Bashir leaned in, requesting a few more strokes over the band while Garak continued to rub and pat him.  Then he decided it was for the best if they were not staring at one another the entire time; Garak’s undivided attention made Bashir falter.

He pulled aside the sheet and led Garak to return his hand to his lap, where it met only the thin resistance of his underwear.  Admittedly, it was Garak’s visit the previous night that left him falling asleep in this fanciful mostly-nude state; otherwise, he had a set of thick pajamas that he enjoyed the feeling of, but he found he enjoyed imagining the feeling of Garak’s ring more, and he had fallen asleep with one hand cupping himself.

“Just try to relax,” Bashir dispensed his first piece of advice, while Garak slowed the speed of his rubbing.  “I’ll um… I’ll undress.”

Garak watched discerningly as he did so, rolling the garment slowly down over each of his legs, exposing his genitals.

“ _Ah_ ,” Garak said, just vaguely enough for Bashir to find it amusing.

“Will it… be alright for you?” Bashir asked, flushing.

He was not entirely erect, yet, and continued guiding Garak’s fingers over his shaft as he spoke, hoping Garak could feel each throb and twitch and share in his excitement. 

“I don’t see why not, Doctor.”

With permission, he wrapped his hand loosely around Bashir’s base, looking intrigued when his act brought forth a dribbling of precursory fluid.  

“It isn’t hugely different from your own,” Bashir said, pondering the choice of words only after he had made it.

“Other than the fact everything seems to be external,” mused Garak.  “Opposite, in every way…”

“Alright, well, _yes_ , that’s true.  And if you’re just here to _study_ me--”

“Oh, mercies, no.  I thought I had made my intentions perfectly clear.”

“Having oral sex with me.”

“ _How charming_!”

Bashir conceded to the point by laying flat on his back, scooting off to one side so Garak could fit on the bed, too.

“I _knew_ you put that thing in your mouth for a reason,” Bashir said, triumphantly.

Garak knelt at his side, looking unaffected, yet still - somehow - sly. He lowered his chin to Bashir’s navel, opening his mouth and flattening his tongue in order to scent. 

“Curious,” said Garak.

Without exchanging any guesses of what Garak was referring to, Bashir nervously cleared his throat, and Garak licked his lower lip. The shine from his ring flitted up along the ceiling, refracting from the artificial dawn of the cabin lights, and Bashir grinned when he caught sight of it.

He expected this would feel… interesting. But also nice.

“Now just…” Bashir began quietly, “go as slowly as you need to, alright?” 

Garak made a vaguely dismissive gesture, then a little grunt, as he opened his lips and slid them down enough to cover Bashir’s glans. The _pri’al_ was slick and cool, and it remained stationery when Garak began to experiment with his tongue, pressing it into place and bobbing his chin. As he went on, he calmly traced Bashir’s navel with the claw-like tip of one fingernail, making Bashir shiver instead of relax.

“So you’ve been… _ahh,_ ” groaned Bashir, “planning this for months, I take it?”

“Mmm?”

Before pulling back, Garak lowered himself further, making Bashir groan again and clutch at the sheets to restrain himself.  Bashir took the prideful look in his eyes as confirmation, but whether it was agreement or merely acknowledgement remained unknown to him.

“I noticed _this_ ,” Garak said, pausing to lave the duct in Bashir’s cock with his ring in illustration, “in a crate of my personal implements I was only recently reunited with.”

“Fantastic,” panted Bashir. “Your _pri’al,_ I mean.  Not my urethra.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

Garak touched the place again with his band, causing Bashir to clench his teeth against the sensation. It was cold and enlivening, and maddeningly good.  With some effort, and presumably based on Bashir’s easy-to-read responses, Garak eventually worked one of the forked halves of his tongue into this little hole, drawing cool breaths in through barely-parted lips, making Bashir whimper with each flick of his tongue and resulting slap of metal, as the wavelike motion concluded.

“I’d, um, er…” Bashir babbled and then cringed at himself, “thought you meant you’d read about… well, _blowjobs_.”

“Hmm,” Garak said, closing his mouth and deflecting further questions.

“But this is… this is fine, though, as w-- in-instead...”

Garak tilted his head and slid his lips upward again, licking them slowly before giving an answer.

“So I gathered.”

“I’m sorry.  I’ll try to be quiet.”

“Oh, I would hope not.  I find it greatly encouraging, in lieu of formal instruction.”

“Right, sorry about that.  If you haven’t been reading about this, after all, I’d prefer you stop.”

Garak obliged, lowering his tongue again slowly, bypassing the duct and trailing gradually down toward Bashir’s base, instead.  In response to his surprise at being obeyed by Garak of all people, Bashir shuddered, and his cock twitched minutely to one side.  Garak reacted with a gentle little hum, a smirk Bashir felt as Garak’s lips spread and replaced the cool _pri’al,_ and a nod.  He did not enter the duct again, but instead drew out delicate pearls of Bashir’s fluid one at a time, coaxing and twisting, leaving Bashir gasping in great contrast to the gentility of these movements.

“It can be nice, though, when it’s done safely,” Bashir went on speaking, while Garak went on otherwise. “We would have to discuss it, if you were… well, if you had any interest in seeing me again like this.”

Garak settled his hands at each of Bashir’s hip-bones, cradling the harsh curve of them, softening them inside the fleshy crook of his palms. He bowed down as flat as he could in this position, moving to straddle Bashir’s legs and tucking his nose into Bashir’s navel, and taking all of Bashir’s cock into his mouth and throat.

His _pri’al_ dug into Bashir’s base, flicking against flaring veins while Bashir whimpered and Garak moaned.  The space was covered with thin lines of scaling, and Bashir mumbled nonsensical questions about their significance while Garak endeavoured to shush him. This was only achieved when Bashir orgasmed, some minutes later, filling the very grooves he did not understand.

Garak remained over him for a while, working him down gradually from his high, continuing to taste and caress.

“My dear,” he said, and Bashir was not sure whether he had swallowed or wiped his mouth on his sleeve, “I would have an unparalleled interest in _that.”_

Bashir’s cock twitched again, and Bashir huffed apologetically, but Garak merely clicked his tongue, waved his hand, and returned his mouth as if it would soothe them both.  Bashir twisted his hips and wriggled free of Garak’s weight, folding up his legs and spreading them to improve Garak’s access. Garak replied in kind, twirling his tongue and bobbing his chin to each side in short turns, until Bashir felt the _pri’al_ more closely.  

Bashir lost sight of Garak’s hands, hard at work behind his own thighs, but he could vaguely feel a few of Garak’s nails gently tracing his testicles.  He did not know whether Garak spared a claw to work alongside his tongue, but soon Bashir could feel the metal band pressing into the underside of his glans.  Garak made another soft hum, and then one of the angular closures dug into the same spot, making Bashir wince.

“That’s _incredibly_ sensitive, you know,” he said.

“I do.”

“Why are you—?”

“Ah-ah,” Garak said, creating a bizarre and wonderful sensation by tutting his tongue directly against Bashir’s cock.

The other closure was pressed into place much more carefully, and then Garak drew back to admire his work. Of course, the _pri’al_ was made to adorn thin reptilian tongues and not thick mammalian genitals, but the gesture was still clearly a fond one - as fond as Garak was capable of being.

“I’ve very much enjoyed this… talk, Doctor,” Garak said.

His gait was just the tiniest bit unsteady as he stood and walked out of the bedroom.  Bashir watched him depart, but before he could see which way Garak turned at the front door, his eyes were caught on that same entrancing little glimmer, now coated in semen and saliva and nestled into place on his cock.

“Damn him,” Bashir said quietly, not meaning it at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Bashir left the band in place for a few days, exactly as Garak had arranged it.  They met for lunch once, in that time, and Garak immediately - but in modest terms - pointed out the fact Bashir was wearing it.

“I believe you’ll find it much more comfortable in the place it was designed for,” Garak had said.

Knowing better than to be caught off guard, and stifling any reaction that would appear so, Bashir blinked and met Garak’s gaze evenly.

“We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?” he said.

He imagined Garak’s reaction was more shocked than it really was, but it seemed like a fair precaution to take, especially after Garak had been embarrassing him in public for years.

What a shame, he thought, as he stood up from the table and resigned himself to embarrassing Garak in private.  

They rushed to Bashir’s quarters, allowing Garak a chance to play with the ring through the fabric of Bashir’s uniform.  It felt like the argument was continuing, silently, and Bashir raised a brow as Garak fondled him.

“So…” Bashir led, “they _are_ meant to indicate the wearer’s skill…?”

Garak’s breath was hot against his neck.

“I thought you’d read enough to declare yourself an expert,” he said.

“Oh, I did.  I read the entire volume on their significance as an adornment for the tongue.”

“Have I mentioned your almost-Cardassian sense of confidence recently, Doctor?” Garak aimed to distract him, even tightening his grip around the head of Bashir’s cock.

Bashir sighed and bit his lip to stifle a moan, but otherwise did not grant Garak any satisfaction.  He remained focused despite Garak’s increasing attempts at diversion, and cleared his throat until Garak looked up at him again.  His scaled palm felt heavy and cool even through the fabric, and Bashir was delighted that Garak left it in place when Bashir addressed him.

“Should I be offended that the best place you could think to put it was my penis?”

“My _dear_ ,” Garak replied, scandalized.  “I’ve bestowed a gesture of genuine _interest_ , and you immediately accuse--”

Garak hastened his touches, and Bashir caught himself wishing the uniforms were less of an ordeal to remove.

“This is a debate, isn’t it?” he said, of Garak’s feverish rubbing.  “Prove me wrong.”

Eagerly, Garak smoothed his hands upward, crossing them behind Bashir’s neck, locating the suit’s zipper.  His smile was thin and devious as he sank down to his knees, tugging the zipper open in one fluid motion.

“I never told you it needed to _stay here_ ,” Garak said, shrugging one shoulder and gently touching Bashir’s groin in indication.

Bashir rolled his eyes and sighed to himself, then stepped out of his pooled trousers, nudging Garak back far enough to pull off his boots.  Without speaking, Garak offered to tend to his undergarments, tugging at socks, then shirt, then briefs, all while Bashir gazed down at him. Garak’s fingers curled delicately around his shaft, pumping loosely and stopping at the glans.  Then he leaned in, with Bashir’s eyes still trained on him, and slid his tongue out over his lower lip, teasing the _pri’al_ between the split prongs of it.  The ring glistened and caught the thread of saliva as Garak pulled back again, admiring his work.  

“In any case,” Garak said slowly, “I’m… pleased to see you’re so fond of it.”

Perfectly steady, Garak clasped his lips shut over the tip of it, gradually working backward to encompass all of it, as well as Bashir’s glans.  His lips played over the swelling veins, and he sucked gently on the ring until it became dislodged, hanging at a precarious angle when Garak drew backward.  He licked over it again, while Bashir managed to contain a racking shiver, with Garak pressing the metal tight to the fork of his tongue. His saliva was tacky and cool, and he rolled the _pri’al_ backward with little difficulty.  As he removed it, he returned one hand to Bashir’s shaft, stroking him soothingly until the task was done and at last the haphazard piercing had been worked free.

Garak held it carefully beneath his upper lip, letting it sit on his tongue for Bashir to see.  He rose carefully and gracefully from his knees, tipping his head up to hold the ring to Bashir’s eye-level, before teasingly closing his mouth around it.  

“Why shouldn’t I be fond of a good, _honest_ gift?” Bashir replied, in a lighthearted tone.

Nodding, Garak held his hand to his mouth and gently deposited the adornment, rolling it over to showcase its sheen.  It caught the cabin’s approximation of daylight beautifully, and looked to Bashir like a candy, something absurd and coated in gold dust.  He wanted it back in his own mouth, and from the way Garak looked at him, Garak was aware of this, too.

“Alright,” Bashir said, expectantly holding his hand forward.  “There’s a favor I want to repay.”

“Whatever do you mean,” Garak gave a thin smile, and eventually passed over the _pri’al_ to its new owner.  

Bashir felt slightly ridiculous - nude while Garak was still fully clothed - so he gestured commandingly to the lounge chair, and made a sharp turn for it, moving away too suddenly for Garak to maintain his touch.

“You can sit down right here,” Bashir instructed.  “I’ll just be a minute…”

Incredulously, Garak glanced back and forth between the cushioned chair and Bashir’s hand, which curled into a fist after indicating the lounge.  He was holding the _pri’al_ up carefully between his thumb and forefinger, turning it over in the light.  

Garak only sat down after Bashir had turned his back and disappeared into the kitchen, where he held the ring under the tap for a long while.  The sound it made was soothing, barely altering its pitch each time Bashir adjusted the angle of the ring, and Garak smiled to himself. Then, Bashir moved out of the room entirely, so he could sanitize their device beneath the ultraviolet wand he kept on hand for medical emergency calls.  

“Would you… like to undress?” Bashir asked, as he returned to the open area at the front of the house.  “Or I can _help_ …?”

Garak was seated on the lounge, one hand dipping suggestively beneath his collar, but that was as far as the movement had progressed in Bashir’s absence.  

“By all means,” Garak said, “I would be _fascinated_ by your offer of assistance.”

Skeptically, Bashir approached, shoving aside the footstool with his shoulder as he knelt, leaving Garak sprawled back on the chaise, knees bent at either side of Bashir’s head.  He took hold of these and raised them over his shoulders, pulling himself in closer to inspect the garment with both hands freed. Garak watched as Bashir groped him in a patient but feverish search for the garment’s closure.

Garak reached forward, catching one of Bashir’s wrists, which he then dragged upward, rubbing the warm human hand over the gathered seam of his trousers.  His seam resided just beneath the thick fabric, and when Bashir pressed in tighter, he could feel it begin to spread and leak fluid. The shape felt firm to him, and he guessed the area was lined with ridges, or at the very least, pliable scales.  

“This is you helping yourself,” Bashir observed coyly, letting Garak guide his hand.

“You’ll want to remove my belt,” Garak replied, in a flat, controlled voice.  

“Thank you.  I’ll take care of that, then, shall I?”

Garak rolled his head back, swiftly separating his gaze from Bashir’s, while Bashir scoffed in an amused way, and let his hand wander upward to complete the action.  Tugging was sufficient to loosen the clasp on the side of the belt, and further exploration led Bashir to Garak’s waistline, where he found a series of hooks-and-eyes after the belt had fallen away.  He unhooked them with a smooth swipe of one finger, then did the same on the other side, leaving Garak’s trousers open but still modestly arranged.

“Do you want to?” he asked, not feeling reassured by Garak’s intentional lack of eye-contact.  “Do you want _me_ to?”

“Desperately,” said Garak.  

Bashir nodded to accept this - it was perhaps as much clarity as he could get from Garak while he was fully clothed - but then he worked the trousers down and rolled them off, lifting one leg at a time from his shoulders.  He set Garak’s belt and trousers aside, and took a polite look at Garak’s seam. It was scaled as he suspected, with the widest scales running directly along the separating folds of skin. The scales decreased in size as they spread out, with the smallest ones falling like speckles of sunlight over his belly in one direction, and his thighs in the other.  Bashir was entranced.

He shut his eyes and inhaled quietly, and when he raised his hand to grip the cushion - the hand that still clutched the ring - he felt Garak reaching down to rub his scalp, twisting curls of hair between his fingers.  

“Did I ever tell you about the year I spent seducing a young woman on Romulus?  Of course, I was much younger then, and I _believe_ some of the… _progress_ I made would compare with what you have in mind for--”

“Shh.  I don’t believe a word of that,” Bashir looked forward intently.  “And if I have anything to do with it - which, by all means, _I do_ \- this isn’t going to compare at _all_.”

Garak eyed him with some degree of suspicion, and continued stroking through his hair, tugging upward just enough for their gazes to meet.  Exuding confidence, Bashir rolled the _pri’al_ over in his palm and slid it over the tip of his tongue.  He worked it backward until it fit snugly, about halfway along the length.  All of the composure and dignity he had built up evaporated immediately when Garak let go of his hair, allowing him to look directly forward at Garak’s slit again.  When he tried to speak, his scores plummeted into the negatives.

“I _sfff--_ I won - wane...”

Bashir stammered and gave up on Standard, swapping his thoughts quickly into the few words he had learned, so far, of Cardassi.  It became noticeably smoother, when he told Garak - in his best approximation - he ‘ _wanted to devour him soon_.’

“How vulgar,” Garak said back in perfect Standard.  “I’ve never had a lover lose composure over me quite like this.”

Then Bashir thought about spitting the ring out in order to clarify his intentions, but that suddenly felt like a gullible decision, as if Garak was only speaking to wind him up.  There was an adage he was aware of, which he spoke in a quiet, sultry voice.

“ _Having words and losing them is more Romantic than debate itself,_ ” he said.

Garak drew his thighs together suddenly, but not before Bashir noticed the new trail of slick dribbling down the left one, only running more prominently when Garak squirmed.  Julian smirked.

“Makes it a little trickier for me to get in there, doesn’t it?” he asked.

With an apologetic utterance about having been _conditioned_ this way, which Bashir guessed was probably true, Garak made a conscious effort to spread his legs once more. Bashir gave reassuring, warm breaths over each scale this revealed. Garak shivered, until Bashir’s tongue was lodged inside.

Garak’s fluid fragrant and sweet. Bashir flicked the tip of his tongue in exploration, before settling his hands on Garak’s thighs and pulling himself in deeper.

When the metal came in contact with Garak’s flesh, he bit his lip and drew in a sharp, surprised breath. Bashir paused, to ensure all was well, before slipping inside again.

“You… do know I will evert, don’t you, Doctor?” Garak asked after a while. “And it will not be terribly comfortable for you in your current position.”

Bashir answered only by nodding, rubbing his nose into the uppermost point of Garak’s seam, which brought about another shiver. He loved making Garak lose composure, little by little. And if he was honest with himself, seeing Garak’s cock emerge right at eye level did not sound too bad either. Inside, he tapped a little nub of scales at the upper rim of Garak’s sheath, and he felt a tremor run through them.

“ _Doctor_!” Garak whined, gripping both armrests.

Bashir relented, leaning back to observe the cause for Garak’s warning.

“I thought Cardassians would have a higher appreciation for foreplay,” Bashir teased, holding down on the _pri’al_ so it did not affect his speech.

But he changed his mind as Garak began everting. He had spent the preceding weeks obsessed with the slick feeling of the ring, fixated on having it in his mouth. All of this was outdone by Garak’s cock.

Already, Bashir had sampled the sweet flavor of his precursory fluid. Garak’s penis was thick at the base  and tapered into two forked points as his tongue did. And, above all, it was iridescent and blue and pulsing, crying out for attention.

Bashir slipped his tongue into place - wide and flat - between the two prongs of Garak’s glans. Then he rubbed up and down in small motions, letting the _pri’al_ catch along delicate ridges. Garak tightened his hold on the armrests and squirmed.

It felt just the way Bashir expected, and was the precise texture he liked best. Boldly, he closed his mouth over the prongs - they each wiggled individually in response to this - and brought his face in closer. It took time, and a great deal of dramatic sounds from Garak, until Bashir could set his nose into the wide slope of Garak’s chuva. He teased it by nuzzling side to side, leaving the skin hot and flushed blue in his wake.  The prongs tickled his palate before respectfully softening and descending into his throat, and Bashir hummed with satisfaction.

However, this activity was not his primary intention.  He wanted to return with his tongue to the sweetness of Garak’s slit; he wanted to make Garak climax from this alone.  

So, he nudged Garak’s legs apart once more, leaning in and sliding his tongue back into place.  The ring caught briefly on Garak’s folds and he winced, until Bashir adjusted his angle, and licked soothingly before going further inside.  

When he hummed, the vibration rattled the _pri’al_ , allowing both of them to feel something like a magnetic connection.  Urgently, he squeezed on Garak’s thighs, pulling himself in deeper, until he tasted Garak’s base.  It was smooth and cool, and the friction from the metal felt like a spark being cupped between them, to warm them both.  Bashir did all he could to preserve and heighten it, varying his strokes and increasing his speed, until Garak was thrashing overhead.  In vain, Garak reached to take hold of Bashir’s hair again, then his shoulders in order to steady himself, but he had already climaxed.

Bashir felt Garak’s release splatter against his forehead, smearing down his cheek when Garak jolted backward, as if to apologize.  His cock felt pleasant, _heavy_ , against Bashir’s cheek, and he did not think he could ever tire of that bright, shimmering blue in his peripheral vision.  Withdrawing from Garak’s slit, he shushed Garak patiently, and giving gentle, doting licks over his seam before working upward to the base of his penis.  Garak tried several times to voice an apology, but Bashir went on calming him, nuzzling him, and sucking softly at the head of his cock until the spasming ceased.  Bashir swallowed and stroked and swallowed again, gradually pressing closer to Garak’s shaft.

Garak’s cock had softened almost immediately after his climax, and Bashir was able to manipulate it in his mouth with ease.  Wherever he touched with the ring, Garak would tense and shrink away from, so Bashir learned this process and guided himself up the full length of Garak’s shaft.  When he finished, he withdrew slowly, leaving Garak’s cock curved against his chuva. This, too, caused Garak to shiver, and he managed to grin lazily down at Bashir as he did so.

“Well.  I certainly needed _that_ ,” Garak observed.

Bashir swiped his tongue over his palm, catching the _pri’al_ at his knuckles and twisting back and forth until it was loosened.  Then, he slid it over his finger, and reached to cup Garak’s cock in hand.  He pumped it loosely, calmingly, and brought himself up to sit beside Garak on the chaise.

“I think that’s the first true thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Garak looked at Bashir’s hand, hypnotized by the glimmer of the ring as it danced up and down, making him stiffen all over again.

“This isn’t an offensive place for this, is it?” Bashir teased, showcasing the _pri’al_.  

“It's perfect.  I’ve done my research,” Garak said, slouching back further in the seat.  

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to use pri’al in a story or art, absolutely feel free to do so. I’m happy to talk about them more :)
> 
> Also! Yeah so Garak definitely wrote the Romantic encyclopedia entry Bashir read, in case that was too vague ;)
> 
> buy me a coffee: ko-fi.com/garakinglasses


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